


Don't Get too Close, it's Dark Inside

by 44TayLo



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Bruce is an ice cream addict, Deaf Clint Barton, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Lucky the Dog - Freeform, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Wing AU, aka Canon Clint Barton, kind of, wing!fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 03:36:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4813442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/44TayLo/pseuds/44TayLo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hulkeye prompt- All of the Avengers have wings and no one really knows what Bruce's look like since they get deformed on Hulk, will Clint be the first to see them?</p><p>"It was extremely unusual for one’s partner to have never seen their wings in person. Wings were supposed to be a sign of great emotion, and so it weighed heavily on Clint to think that he’d never made Bruce happy enough to reveal them..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Clint gazed at the man staring up at him from his tablet. He was undeniably Bruce, albeit without the smatterings of grey in his hair. The tablet was displaying some picture taken during his college days. Had he ever seen Bruce smile that big? He didn’t think so. His stare drifted back to the main focus of his attention. With a calloused finger, Clint traced the large, purple wings that extended from Bruce’s back.

It was extremely unusual for one’s partner to have never seen their wings in person. Wings were supposed to be a sign of great emotion, and so it weighed heavily on Clint to think that he’d never made Bruce happy enough to reveal them. He ran a hand through his hair. Was a five month relationship long enough to warrant bringing it up? Or would that still be considered rude? Wings were so personal, and Clint didn’t want to offend Bruce. But on the other hand, if Bruce wasn’t happy in their relationship, Clint really should give him an out.

As soon as he stood from the couch, he could feel his wings aching to be released. They had been an almost permanent fixture on him for the last three months. Clint stamped down on the desire to stretch them. He didn’t need Bruce to know just how nervous he was to have this conversation.

The savory smell of spices wafted into the hall from the kitchen, letting Clint know exactly what Bruce was doing before he caught sight of him. He lingered in the doorway, watching Bruce chop vegetables and occasionally pause to stir a gently bubbling pot on the stove. The sight made his heart ache.

Clint couldn’t help himself; he walked over to Bruce and wrapped his arms around him, placing a kiss in the crook of his neck. Bruce hummed. He pressed into him, his own hands coming to rest on Clint’s. Swaying with Bruce in their shared kitchen, Clint could almost let himself drop the wing issue. Almost.

“Can I ask you something?” Clint exhaled in a quiet rush.

Bruce craned his neck to look up at him, his brows drawn together at Clint’s tone. “Of course.”

Clint swallowed thickly. “You might not like it.”

Bruce frowned at that, turning in Clint’s arms so they were face to face. “Clint,” he asked, voice carefully firm, “What’s wrong?”

“I just—” The sound of ripping clothe interrupted him. He released Bruce to put his head in his hands. God, he was usually so good about controlling his wings.

A faint touch on the left one caused him to look up. Bruce was examining the blue and gold feathers, his fingers gently trailing over them. That soft caress alone was enough to shake several loose.

“When’s the last time you preened?” Bruce softly asked.

Clint sighed. This conversation had been derailed so quickly. “It’s been a while,” he admitted. “That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What, preening?” Bruce sighed in a way that Clint had come to recognize as his version of a chuckle. He continued to comb his fingers through Clint’s feathers. “I could help you, if you’d like.”

“I’ve never seen your wings,” Clint blurted out. Blood was pounding in his ears, and his wings twitched with nervous energy. When Bruce didn’t reply, Clint risked looking over at him. He was staring at the ground, his fingers wringing together instead of trailing down Clint’s wings.

“No, I suppose you haven’t,” Bruce muttered. He began running a hand through his hair. “And that…upsets you? Why am I asking, of course it does.”

Clint could tell he was close to pacing, and that would only result in working himself into more of a frenzy. He closed the space between them and gently took Bruce’s frantic hands into his own. Rubbing his thumbs along them, he savored the feeling of Bruce’s comparative softness.

“I just want to know you’re happy here with me,” Clint promised. “It’s hard to know when they’re never out.”

“Clint, you do make me happy,” Bruce assured him, somewhat frantic. “They want to be out all the time.”

Clint frowned. “So then why don’t you let them?”

“They’re not…they look…” Bruce let out a shuddering sigh and dropped his gaze to the floor. Clint couldn’t help but envelope him, his arms and wings wrapping around him. Bruce didn’t move to hug back, but he did rest his head in the crook of Clint’s shoulder.

“It’d be easier to show you,” he mumbled. He took a step back, his trembling fingers already trying to undo the buttons on his shirt.

Clint thought he looked terrified. He covered Bruce’s hands with his own once more, causing Bruce to stare up at him. His eyes were wide and a little glassy, and he was working his jaw.

“Babe, it’s alright. You don’t have to show me.”

Bruce shook his head. “No. You deserve to see.” There was the smallest tremor in his voice, but Clint could tell Bruce wasn’t going to be persuaded. He gently began to unbutton Bruce’s shirt for him, carefully sliding it off his shoulders once he was done.

Bruce took a deep breath. His face contorted in pain that left him shuddering, his arms crossing over his chest as his shoulders hunched forward. It was over in a flash, but it still felt too long when Bruce was so obviously in pain. When he straightened up, Clint couldn’t see anything of his wings. Bruce kept his arms crossed protectively over his chest and slowly turned around.

Clint’s breath caught in his throat, choking off anything he might say. Gone were the wings he’d seen in the photograph. In their place hung their remnants. Bruce’s feathers didn’t extend any further than his shoulder blades, though a small, jagged finger of bone proceeded it. The wings had been cut off well before the second joint, making it impossible to see them from the front if Bruce chose to hold them close against his back.

Clint felt the prickling of tears in his eyes, and tried to blink them away for Bruce’s sake. They didn’t seem to want to leave, though.

“Bruce,” he breathed. The man kept his head bowed, still trembling periodically. “Can I--” he cut himself off to clear his throat. “Can I touch them?”

Bruce shrugged, his whole back heaving, which caused more purple feathers to fall loose. “Be gentle,” he cautioned in a voice that sounded too tight.

Clint delicately ran a finger down the foundation of the wing, until he reached the area without feathers. He hesitated for a moment, before continuing on. That little piece of exposed bone was so smooth. Distantly, he wondered why the skin and feathers hadn’t grown back. He came to the breakage point, feeling the ridges around it, and gently feeling the end of the bone itself.

Bruce cried out and flinched away. His wings tried to instinctively wrap around himself, but they couldn’t do more than pull away from his back.

“I’m sorry,” Clint managed, horrified with himself.

“It’s alright,” Bruce assured him, his voice still tight. “They’re sensitive. You didn’t know.”

Clint couldn’t stand it anymore. He walked around Bruce so he was facing him and buried him in a hug, making sure to wrap his arms around his waist so as not to touch his wings. “Can you tell me how this happened?”

Bruce shuddered, his fists curling into Clint’s shirt. Clint watched in horrified fascination as the wings retreated into his back, prompting Bruce to let out a deep breath, and relax against him. After a moment, he returned Clint’s embrace.

“I woke up after a hulk-out with them like this,” Bruce admitted. “I think he meant to bring out his own, but somehow he must have accidentally brought out mine.”

Clint’s mind stumbled over that. “Hulk has wings?”

Bruce nodded against him. “I don’t think he’s tried to use them since, though.” Bruce paused, letting silence hang between them. “We um, we shared them, really. I’ve always been able to bring Hulk’s out. Even before the accident.”

Clint frowned, pulling back just enough so they had to look each other in the eye. “How do you know they’re Hulk’s?”

Bruce bit his lip, looking anywhere but at Clint. “I always knew they weren’t really mine. No one has two pairs, Clint.”

“So the big guy’s always been there, then.”

Bruce didn’t respond to that, instead asking, “Do you want to see them?”

Clint didn’t know what to say to that. “Bruce, you don’t have to--”

But Bruce was already pulling away, walking even further into the middle of the room, this time. “I’ve never shown anyone,” he admitted. Something seemed off about his voice. Like he was desperate and hesitant all at once.

Before Clint could say anything, large, black wings were erupting from Bruce’s back. Clint stared in awe. They were unlike anything he’d ever seen. The wings were featherless, instead covered in a leathery material. Several finger bones ran through the wings in a very bat-like fashion, and the end of a single, white bone protruded from each one.

“Holy shit, Bruce! They’re like dragon wings!”

Bruce smiled, but Clint didn’t miss how it failed to reach his eyes. There was something off about the whole situation, and Clint was pretty sure he knew what it was. If Bruce’s wings wanted to be out all of the time, then how come he’d had to painfully force the purple ones into existence? And how come the black ones came so easily?

He wasn’t sure if it was his place to confront Bruce about it, though. Instead, he explored this pair of wings. As Clint ran his hands over their leathery expanse, Bruce shuddered.

“Ah, these ones are more sensitive,” Bruce admitted.

Clint immediately retracted his hands, worried he’d hurt Bruce once again. Bruce didn’t look worried, though. Just embarrassed.

“You didn’t hurt me,” he assured him.

Oh. That kind of sensitive. Well, that wasn’t unheard of. Clint himself didn’t have erogenous zones on his wings, but that was actually the exception rather than the rule. He filed that information away for later. Right now, he had more important matters to address.

He gazed over the expanse of the wings, thought about how much more this pair suited him. “Bruce…” he began.

Bruce himself had been staring at his right wing, having curled it towards himself for better inspection. “Yeah?” he replied, not tearing his gaze away.

Clint shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Can I ask you a question?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, his mouth twisting into a nervous smile. “Didn’t you already ask me that?”

“Were you always able to bring the purple ones out, too?”

Bruce froze, his jaw clenched tight. When he began to move again, he lifted his head with a sigh. “Yes.” Then, much softer, “But they always hurt.”

Clint nodded. That was all the confirmation he needed. “Then,” he tried, “Maybe you could let these ones out instead?”

Bruce visibly relaxed, a genuine smile on his lips and his wings stretching of their own accord. “I suppose I could do that.”

“Awesome, now let’s see what these babies can do.”

“Wait, wha—” Bruce broke off into an unintelligible gasp as Clint kissed one of his wings.

“Food’s gonna burn,” Bruce warned, even as he was chasing Clint’s mouth with his own.

“We’ll order in. I want to find all the new places that make you crazy.”

The food did burn, but according to Clint, it was totally worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send me prompts on tumblr! My URL is supersecretsciencebrosclub.
> 
> Reviews and kudos are greatly appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony was curious about Bruce’s wings, to say the least. After living with the man for so long, he understood Bruce was ridiculously repressed emotionally. Still, it was odd to have never seen the wings at all, especially since Tony considered Bruce to be a good friend. It left him wondering if there wasn’t another reason Bruce never let them out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back by popular demand!

Tony Stark was an emotional man. This fact was made even more obvious by Tony’s apparent lack of inhibition toward revealing his wings. The wings didn’t necessarily highlight this fact, but rather helped indicate what emotions he was feeling. It was pretty easy to pick up on their specific body language after being around Tony for an extended period of time. They’d twitch when he was upset, or flare out when he was excited. Not many people knew Tony personally, so he never worried about keeping the wings hidden. After all, he never tried to hide his passion. He only tried to hide what emotion it was being funneled into, hence the fake charisma and smiles.

The Avengers had been living under the same roof for well over a year, now. Everyone had seen each other’s wings and learned to read their all too telling body language. Well…that wasn’t entirely true. Bruce’s wings were the exception. No one had seen them other than, and here Tony was assuming, Clint. It seemed like a pretty safe assumption, because how could a couple date for six months and never see each other’s wings?

Tony was curious about Bruce’s wings, to say the least. After living with the man for so long, he understood Bruce was ridiculously repressed emotionally. Still, it was odd to have never seen the wings at all, especially since Tony considered Bruce to be a good friend. It left him wondering if there wasn’t another reason Bruce never let them out.

He’d brought the subject up a few times, but Bruce had skillfully deflected him. Clint wouldn’t comment on the matter, either.

So when Tony screeched out, “Son of a cock-loving whore!” after hitting his head _hard_ on the undercarriage of his Lamborghini Huracán, and heard the sound of ripping cloth over Bruce’s uproarious laughter, he’d shoved the pain away and focused on his curiosity. He slid out from underneath the sports car and took in the image of Bruce with his wings out. The meeting of their eyes caused the laughter to abruptly stop. It took Tony half a moment to register the look of absolute terror on Bruce’s face.

Despite himself, Tony couldn’t help but stare past Bruce’s horrorstruck expression. He knew the stories, sure. They were ghost stories, really. Stupid stories whispered between children in attempts to scare each other, and when they were taken seriously, they were dismissed as conspiracy theories.

Some genetic diseases did exist that could affect wings, just like any other appendage. Of the more aesthetic and tame were those akin to heterochromia. There were those that were more devastating, causing feathers to fall out, or only one wing to fully form. But leather wings? Wings with bony fingers running through them? That was the stuff of superstition.

Tony knew Bruce’s rough past had made him weary to the point of paranoia about experimentation and people taking his blood. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if Bruce would let him analyze his genome. It wasn’t his area of expertise by any means, but this was fascinating all the same. He pushed the last thought away, knowing it was insensitive and out of the question.

The sound of bone and flesh retreating forced Tony to refocus his attention to the man. His wings were rapidly shrinking back into him, while the rest of his body remained eerily frozen in place. When the wings were fully retracted, Tony took a step forward. Bruce took an equal step back. The engineer put his hands up in a placating gesture and, careful to keep his tone gentle, said, “Hey, Bruce, it’s alright.”

Bruce only shook his head. At least he was moving, Tony figured. “It’s not a big deal,” he assured him. That was a lie. It was a huge, super cool deal. But Tony didn’t think Bruce would believe that, so he settled for the lie closest to the truth. He tried walking towards him again, but Bruce matched each step forward with a backwards one of his own.

Now it was obvious to Tony that Bruce wasn’t totally at home at the moment. He needed to diffuse this situation before Bruce began having a full on anxiety attack that Hulk would inevitably finish out.

“Please don’t walk away from me, buddy. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

Bruce stilled, and Tony shortened the distance between them, careful not to move too fast, despite the growing sense of urgency in his gut. He noticed that Bruce’s breathing seemed to be growing quicker and quicker the closer Tony came.

“Tony…” Bruce managed to gasp out in between pants. It sounded like a warning.

“J, get Barton down here,” he demanded, though he kept his tone even.

“He’s en route, Sir,” the AI replied.

Tony turned his full attention back to Bruce. His pupils were blown wide, and his breathing was coming in short gasps, and fuck, he was definitely entering Anxiety-Attack Mode. Tony was intimately familiar with that state of mind. Enough so that he could recognize the signs. Physical contact always helped ground him, so he made to place a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce flinched back violently, hands in front of his face. Tony froze in place. Shock eclipsed the other emotions that fought to take precedence.

Mentally shaking himself, Tony quickly took stock of Bruce’s features, noting how his eyes were screwed shut and how his mouth was twisted into a tight grimace. Tony was also partially aware of his own, golden wings erupting from his back. And of the green that was bleeding across Bruce’s skin.

“Suit…Tony, call the suit,” Bruce managed between gasps, his voice growing deeper with every word.

“Hulk, buddy, there’s nothing wrong. Bruce isn’t in danger, I promise,” Tony assured. He didn’t know if Hulk could hear him, but talking Hulk down rather than Bruce had helped the physicist regain control in the past. Tony just hoped that trick would work now.

He continued to placate Hulk, and it seemed to be working. Slowly, very slowly, Bruce’s breathing became less ragged and the green tinge faded from his skin.

“That’s it. Everything’s gonna be alright, I promise.”

With a shaky exhale, Bruce opened his eyes and stared at Tony. Carefully, Tony extended his arm, making sure it was in Bruce’s range of vision. He gently settled it on the other man’s shoulder, moving his thumb in what he hoped was a soothing motion.

“Hey, Big Guy. You okay?”

Bruce ducked his head, refusing to meet Tony’s stare. “Don’t,” he firmly said, the tremor in his body absent in his voice.

Tony let go of his arm and backed up to give him some space. With shaky movements, Bruce lowered himself to the floor and ducked his head. Both hands found their way into his hair, his arms blocking everything but the floor from view.

The whoosh of the doors opening made Tony glance away from Bruce. Clint was struggling to slow from a full-sprint to walking-speed, his blue and gold wings spread out to help counteract his momentum. Immediately, Clint sat down behind Bruce, wrapping his arms around him so that his chest was pressed firmly against the other man’s back. All the while, Clint was whispering things like, “I’m here,” and, “Everything’s gonna be alright.”

Slowly, Bruce’s shivering ceased. An audible exhale that sounded very much like a choked off sob convinced Tony he was no longer needed here. He placed a hand on Clint’s shoulder, causing the archer to look up. Above the sorrow, Tony could see the wordless thanks in his eyes. He took that as an okay to leave, and forced himself to walk, not run, out of the lab.

***

Bruce didn’t want to talk to him. Tony was far from stupid, and it was really obvious he was avoiding their shared lab space. Agitated, Tony absently ran a grease covered hand through his hair. He didn’t understand people under the best of circumstances. But this? The fear on Bruce’s face, the physical recoil when Tony had tried to comfort him? Yeah. Surprisingly, he understood that.

He also understood that if they didn’t talk soon, if Tony didn’t set the record straight, Bruce would permanently adopt the idea that Tony thought he was a freak. Which wasn’t entirely untrue. Tony thought all of the Avengers, himself included, were freaks, but only in the best way. Bruce had a knack for twisting his, and only his, freaky traits into something grotesque and awful.

While under the same car he’d hit his head on a week ago, he let his mind drift. Pepper had said, in her firm but soft, Tony-you-don’t-know-how-to-deal-with-people-so-I’ll-have-to-spell-it-out-for-you tone of voice, that he needed to let Bruce come to him. Tony didn’t really do patience, but he tried this time. Damn, did he try. After a solid week, though, his brain was itching to do something about the problem.

Stepping off the elevator and onto Clint’s floor, he figured this was a pretty good compromise. He wasn’t going to push Bruce into talking. At least, not yet. He was just going to ask Clint, the man who knew Bruce best, for some advice. Tony knocked on his door, but other than a bark, no one answered. That wasn’t unusual. Clint often took his hearing aids out when he was alone. It was understood that if he wanted privacy, he would lock the front door. Otherwise, the team was welcome to come in. Tony opened the door and was immediately assaulted by Clint’s golden retriever.

“Lucky, no, down,” Tony commanded. The dog just stared up at him with his paws on his stomach, and his tongue lolling happily about.

He gently,--because even if Tony didn’t care for dogs in the manic way that Clint and Bruce did, he wasn’t a monster—pushed the dog off of him. Lucky circled around his legs while he tried to make his way into Clint’s front room.

The archer was sitting on the couch watching some show where Gordon Ramsey yelled at people. At least, Tony thought he was yelling. The TV was muted, and subtitles were flashing quickly across the screen. As Tony approached, he could see that Clint’s feet where propped up on the coffee table, and while one hand held a beer, the other one was buried in Bruce’s hair. The physicist was lying down on the couch, his head in Clint’s lap.

For half a second, Tony debated whether or not he should just leave. But he was already there, and it looked like Bruce was asleep. Tony walked up behind the couch and tapped Clint. The archer looked at him over his shoulder and nodded in greeting.

Tony took that as a good sign, and sat down in the overly comfy chair by the couch. From this angle, he could see how truly awful Bruce looked. The man had at least a week’s worth of stubble, and dark circles had bloomed under his eyes. Tony pressed his mouth into a thin line.

“He’s been in a bad place since the lab,” Clint explained.

Tony sighed. “I don’t know how to convince him it isn’t an issue. You know how he is. I could tell him I don’t care a thousand times, and he’s so fucking stubborn he wouldn’t believe me.”

Clint raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged, careful not to jostle Bruce, and then took a swig of beer while pointedly not looking in Tony’s direction.

Agitated, Tony tapped the archer on the arm to grab his attention. “I know I’m stubborn, I’m aware of my few faults. That doesn’t mean other people can’t be stubborn,” Tony insisted. “And besides, 99.9% of the time, I’m right. So only the 0.1% counts.”

“Mhmm,” Clint placated, his expression still dubious.

Pushing off of the chair, Tony exaggeratedly rolled his eyes. He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, hoping to find more beer.

“It’s all soda,” Clint warned, eyes still on the TV.

He sighed, shutting the door. Clint was looking at him from over his shoulder again, so Tony asked, “Is that what you’re drinking these days? Soda?”

Clint frowned, and Tony could see the dangerous glint in his eyes all the way from the kitchen. “I don’t drink when he gets like this.”

Oh. That made sense. Still, Tony didn’t know how to respond to that. Hands noticeably free of soda, he sat back down in the chair and let silence descend around them. The only sound came from Bruce’s gentle, even breaths.

After a battle, Bruce would immediately fall asleep in the quinjet. Clint usually piloted, and that meant it was up to Tony to keep an eye on the exhausted physicist. Tony studied him, now. If he tried, he could almost imagine that was their current situation. Despite the beginnings of a beard, the dark circles, and the way he was tightly curled into himself, Bruce looked calm. Tony had noticed that he always looked calm when he slept.

The engineer forced himself to look away. Scraping a hand down his face, he sighed. Finally, he tapped Clint on the knee before saying, “I want to fix this.”

Clint snorted. “Don’t know if you can. Don’t know if _I_ can. We’ve been working on it, but he wasn’t ready so show anyone.” The archer sighed before taking another pull of soda. He grimacing as he swallowed, decisively setting the bottle on the coffee table. Tony knew that look; it was the look of someone who wished they were drinking something a hell of a lot stronger.

Letting his head fall back against the couch, Clint covered his eyes with his free hand. His other faithfully continued to tousle Bruce’s curls. “He won’t let me see them anymore,” he admitted, his tone tellingly soft.

Tony bit the inside of his cheek and let that sink in. Bruce wouldn’t even show his wings to Clint, the man he trusted most in the world, the person he was closest to, the person that he _loved_. That was a deep cut for the archer to bear. Tony lightly tapped Clint on the knee, prompting him to straighten up. He stared at Tony expectantly.

“Would it help if I tried talking to him?”

Clint took a deep breath, letting out a slow, audible exhale. “At this point, I doubt it’d make things worse.”

“Let him know Jarvis is going to tell me when he wakes up,” Tony instructed. At Clint’s nod, he stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. “That way he’ll have time to rabbit if he really doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Clint nodded again, and Tony left without a backwards glance.

***

Bruce had a choice. He could either run away from his problems like he always did, or he could talk with Tony. He didn’t want to talk with Tony. However, running away from this problem would also mean running away from the team, from his home, from _Clint_. Try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to do that.

Jarvis had warned him that Tony was going to come looking for him. He’d stayed put, letting Tony find him, but there was no way in hell he was going to have this conversation without the comfort of ice cream. That’s how he found himself in the communal kitchen eating chocolate peanut butter swirl while Tony watched him. They were both sitting on stools around an island countertop, though while Bruce sat hunched over his bowl, Tony had propped his head up in one hand while his other tapped out a restless beat.

When Tony finally spoke, he didn’t say any of the things Bruce had prepared himself for: _“You’re a freak”, “Why didn’t you tell me?”, “Can I see them again?”_

Instead, Tony said, “I don’t care.”

Bruce looked up, a spoonful of ice cream halfway to his mouth. He put the eating utensil down, raising one tired eyebrow.

The engineer straightened, the palms of his hands both facing upwards as he shrugged. “Okay, fine, that’s a bit of a lie. I think it’s super cool. But –Bruce look at me,” Tony gently demanded, cutting himself off. Bruce forced himself to look away from the window his gaze had drifted to and back at his friend. “I don’t care in all of the ways that matter, okay?” Tony finished.

Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but Tony cut him off, “No, hang on, let me get all of this out there before you start on your self-loathing BS.”

Agitated, Bruce closed his mouth and swallowed past the lump in his throat. He just wanted to forget any of this ever happened. He wanted to ignore the fact that Tony had seen him vulnerable and exposed and _himself_. He wanted Tony to just get on to the yelling and beating and _“You’re a freak, you’re a freak, you’re a_ …” Bruce exhaled hard, but forced himself to maintain eye contact.

“Look,” Tony said with a sigh. He scraped a hand down his face. “I’m no good with…this,” he admitted with a vague sweeping gesture. “But I need you to know that the team cares about you. Clint cares about you. None of that is going to change just because you have super cool wings.” Tony shrugged, like that simple statement fixed everything. Like his word was law.

Something in Bruce snapped at that, and he couldn’t keep himself quiet any longer. “’Just because,’” he repeated, his tone disbelieving. “It’s not ‘just’, Tony. Stop trivializing it, stop hiding what this means, what it represents,” Bruce demanded. His voice was pitching higher, words coming faster, as he spoke. He forced himself to stop, taking a deep breath before insisting in a calmer tone, “He’s supposed to be the monster, not me.”

“Bruce, Hulk’s not a monster,” Tony admonished.

And Bruce, well, Bruce started laughing. It was high, loud, gross laughter that brought tears to his eyes for all of the wrong reasons. He was laughing because he’d been referring to his own father more so than Hulk, though the statement certainly applied to both cases.

When he finally caught ahold of himself and ceased his laughter, he noticed the fear on Tony’s face. _“Good,”_ Bruce thought. He couldn’t help it. Tony was out of his depth here, and his friend needed to realize that. It wasn’t true fear he was showing, anyway. It was uncertainty, and that always scared the genius who was Tony Stark.

Bruce sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing as he pushed his cruel thoughts away. “Tony, look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But this is…this goes a lot deeper than us, or me and Clint, or me and the team. Of course I know none of you care if they look...abnormal,” Bruce paused. He opened his eyes, assessing Tony’s expression. There was understanding there, now. And that was exactly why Bruce knew no one in the team would make a big deal about his wings. They all understood what it was like to be different and broken. Still, irrational, learned fear forced Bruce to wring his hands together. “I know you understand this. What it’s like to know one thing, but to be so used to the opposite that you can’t control your own emotions.”

“I do,” Tony immediately affirmed. That took Bruce off guard. He’d expected Tony to shrug off the statement, since the man was always so careful not to admit to any weakness. “So…we’re good?” Tony asked, uncertainty coloring his tone.

Bruce smiled sadly. Despite his devil-may-care attitude, Tony desperately needed validation from his friends. “Yes, Tony, we’re good. Just. Just let me work through this, okay?”

Tony nodded. “Okay, yeah, of course. I just needed to make sure that you knew…well, you know,” he finished lamely.

 _“That I care about you,”_ he didn’t say. Bruce heard it anyway, and it touched him a lot more than it probably should have.

Choking back his own emotions, he replied, “Yeah, Tony, I know.”

Tony cleared his throat, his eyes turning to the wall instead of staring at Bruce. “Enough of this,” he declared, his discomfort finally outweighing his concern. “I’ll be in the workshop if you want to join me.” Bruce didn’t miss how his friend practically ran out of the room.

And that’s how Bruce found himself alone in the kitchen with a bowl of melted ice cream and a small smile on his lips. For the first time, staying seemed to have been the correct decision, and he couldn’t have been more thankful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I would definitely would like to continue this story with multiple chapters, but honestly I have no idea if I'll update regularly.

**Author's Note:**

> Send me prompts on tumblr! My URL is supersecretsciencebrosclub.
> 
> Reviews and kudos are greatly appreciated!


End file.
